The great seasonal wheel turns to the winter solstice.
Dark underbelly,
A mirror opposite to midsummer's peak of growth and light.
This is the time for deepest rest,
Slumber,
Dreaming and gestation.
After the intense encounter with death and decay at Halloween,
Midwinter continues its descent into darkness,
But introduces a brightening element of sparkle,
A turning towards love and active renewal of our bonds of friendship,
Family and community.
Find a warm and cosy place to sink back and relax.
Notice how your body and soft feral soul are feeling.
Is there anything you need close to hand that would make you feel just right,
More luxuriant?
A blanket or soft cushions?
Perhaps lighting a candle or oil burner may bring you a deeper sense of this sacred time.
Notice what sounds are around you.
Are there any you would enjoy letting your attention rest on for a moment or two?
Is there any sporadic winter birdsong outside the window?
Small creaks and noises in the house or room you are in?
Listen to your own breathing.
Feel your body rise and fall.
Feel the atmosphere in the room,
The stillness.
Allow time to slow down.
Present moment,
Wonderful moment.
Open it like a gift.
Relax and rest in beingness.
For this is the shortest day,
The longest night,
The stars brought closer,
Made brighter by the primordial dark.
As the great bear Ursa Major arcs across the sky,
We go to ground,
Burrow in,
Hunker down like heavy bears in our hibernaculum,
In solidarity with the dormancy of the trees and earth.
This is the season when the sun stands still,
Pale,
Watery and low in the sky.
Each day it travels a shorter path before sinking behind the hill.
We give ourselves permission to put down all we are braced against,
Sit down to every meal as a feast,
Bauble and sparkle against all that is drear,
Wreath the door with the green that never dies.
Turn every room into a grotto.
Keep love safe.
Share our gifts from the tree of life.
This is the time of surprises,
Unexpected kindness,
Crisp weather,
Clear skies,
The day's first cup of tea switching on the fairy lights,
Snow disrupting travel,
Appointments cancelled last minute,
Giving the day space to sit and steep.
To breathe in the feeling that it can now be anything.
This is the time of small riches,
Frankincense in the burner,
Memories released with smells and tastes,
Star anise cinnamon sticks,
Cloves,
Mulled wine,
Mince pies,
Beeswax candles,
Braving the cold kitchen to fetch a pinch of salt for the roasting chestnuts.
The pungency of pine,
Needles embedded in the carpet,
Waiting for a skin to form on the pudding,
Listening to the roast potatoes sizzle as they crisp and crozzle,
Reading and writing letters and cards,
Feeding the birds and squirrels,
Knitting wrapping presents.
Watching the light fade,
Baking into a state of ease.
The small murmurings of the wood stove,
Companionably nuzzle the soft cheek of our silence as we drift like snow banks into lazy peace.
This is the time of timeless moments,
An iced over untroubled lake at midnight,
The glow between frosted branches,
An early morning field of untrodden snow.
When awe breaks the surface of our somnolence,
Echoes too of something older,
The touch of soft animal hide,
The yule log brought through oak doors into a vast baronial hall,
Fires blazing in braziers,
Candles burning on the walls,
Mummers and wassailers,
Lost carols,
Green Lucy,
The kissing bow,
All heel mistletoe growing between earth and sky,
The oak and holly kings,
Yule's age-old fight between the rising dark and the sacred light.
And older still,
Dear mother carrying the sun back in her upturned antlers.
On winter's morning,
As the glow of magic sidles closer in,
We go out with a flask of something spiced,
To stand in sacred waiting,
Like the stones of Calanish,
Newgrange,
Long Meg and her daughters,
For the birth of something precious,
For the moment the ancient stirs in us,
Illuminating our hearts deepest chambers,
Everything we care about pivots on this one thing,
The light and life that have left the world,
The love we will be returning.
Amen.
